


I Wouldn't Like You Keeping Me In The Dark

by guti



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Past Relationship(s), Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guti/pseuds/guti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gutted is a word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wouldn't Like You Keeping Me In The Dark

Gutted is a word.

It’s the first word that comes to mind, the only word he really needs. What else can he say, really? It feels like he’s been socked in the stomach, with a fist, with a knife in that fist, with shards of glass between the fingers, like his insides are about to spill out. How’s he supposed to bounce back from that? It’s fucking devastating.

Spain. Fucking Valencia. That’s a whole world away. It may as well be L.A. What the hell is he gonna do in Valencia? Thrive, probably. He’ll probably thrive. He’ll turn ninth place into fourth, put them into qualifications, and he’ll get a tan. He’ll probably lose some weight, too, no longer a fat, old, tired pundit, bantering because he’s got to pay the bills until something better comes along. Something better has come, and he’s leaving and that’s that.

He’ll come back a hero. He’ll be beyond Sky. He’ll be above it. He’ll be so… 

He's got no right to feel this way. Who's Gary Neville to him anyway, besides a co-worker at best and a royal nob, a real pain in the arse at worst? There's nothing there, nothing tangible. After two years... Two years and he'd barely call him a friend. So why the hell does it feel like he's hemorrhaging? Why's it so hard to breathe all of a sudden?

He could've fucking said something, _anything_. Anything, a word, a hint, a clue. They were friends by now, weren't they? They were. They really were. They could be fucking honest with each other. _It came up quickly. It was unexpected_. That's all Gary has to say, via a fucking text. He won't even dial his number and say it aloud. Bollocks. Bollocks, he can't spare a minute on the phone, say something to Jamie himself. It's a rubbish excuse and they both know it. Jamie knows it, at least. Gary won't admit as much. He's busy, besides. _We'll catch up soon, Carra_ , he says. _I'll tell you everything soon_.

It's utter shite, is what it is.

“You okay?” Stevie asks. The reception is horrendous. He sounds so far away, even though Jamie knows he’s right there, right nearby, he could be there beside him in no time, to commiserate or celebrate the afternoon’s win, if he wanted to.

“It’s fine.” And it is, or it will be, once the wind gets back in his lungs, once he’s collected his insides and stuffed them back in again.

Stevie is quiet for a moment, and he wonders if maybe his sulking crossed the line already. He almost thinks he should say something, say he’s sorry, say he’s glad Stevie’s back in town, tell him that things just haven’t been the same without him, but…

“He'll be back," Stevie says, with a sort of assuredness that Jamie knows is completely fabricated, the sort of bravado one has to cultivate in order to make it seem real, the sort of belief that is so deeply embedded that there’s no trace of the lie there. Except when you know someone as well as he knows Stevie, you recognize those signs. _He’ll be back_ doesn’t mean he’ll be back. It means the exact fucking opposite, it means he’s gone forever, and that’s it. It's finished. It’s done.

Jamie’s in no mood for a pat on the back. No mood for comfort, not while he’s bleeding to death, barely breathing. He's like an animal caught, foot in a trap. There's a choice to be made: chew it off or die. He'd rather not do either, but here he is, ready to lash out and so, so hurt. So hurt he might use his teeth if he wants to.

“Just like Xabi came back?” He snorts, bitter, instantly oozing regret. 

Stevie says nothing, just inhales, and Jamie understands, it’s a low blow. He shouldn’t have said that. Some wounds you just can’t pick at, no matter how old or hard the scars get. They still burn, after years they'll always burn.

“Maybe I should fuck off to Spain, too,” he says, quiet this time, an apology without saying it.

“Maybe you should fuck off to California,” Stevie says. “The weather’s fantastic. I bet you’d like it.”

He laughs, “You’re joking.”

“No, I mean it. You’d like it there,” Stevie says.

“What the hell would I do in California?” 

“Get a tan.”

Jamie breathes and it makes a strange, strangled sound. He's dying. He's actually dying.

“You’d get out of England for awhile. Get some sunshine. Some heat. Come back to life. Join the rest of us. It would do you some good, Carra.”

He tells Stevie he’ll think about it. And he will, he means it. But he’s not thinking about California. There are other places where the sun is always shining, where it’s just as warm, where a fella could just go away for awhile, until he’s scabbed over and his heart isn’t throbbing anymore.

Later that night, once he's gone a little numb, he cracks open a beer and decides maybe he’ll fuck off to Jamaica instead. It's a pleasant enough thought, something to hold onto in his sorry state, til he's put himself back together again. 

He decides to tell Gary his plan. _Thinking about taking a vacation. What's your feelings on Jamaica?_

He waits three minutes before the reply comes through. _Bad idea, you'll get a sunburn,_ it says. A moment later, a second message: _You should come to Spain._

And like that, just like that, he's blindsided again, back into his stupor, wandering around gutted again, wondering what the weather's like in Valencia, and if maybe he should bring some sunscreen.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just. gutted i guess. really happy for you, gaz, but _come on_. ;_; you're gonna do fine, i'm just selfish.
> 
> you can 1000% blame [saltstreets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets) for this. also i was coincidentally listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNyIntYGBOw) last night when i saw the headlines and it's fucking colored my personal reaction. the title and actual sentiment for this fic, however, are heavily influenced by [arcadia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2RSiuRXU2I)
> 
> and if you haven't already, come talk to me on [tumblr](http://gutilicious.tumblr.com/). ~~also like, full disclosure: i'm a city fan i have absolutely no right to be so invested in these two and yet here i am.~~
> 
> and one more thing, i'm at almost 40k words of an actual carraville fic so. expect that as soon as it's ready...


End file.
